Trent Lane, Male Prostitute
by Petrel
Summary: Trent has to earn money, and unfortunately, there seems to be only one option....sorry, no really hot porn here.


The Ubiquitous Disclaimer : Really, what kind of money do I have anyway?  
If I had beaucoup bux, I'd be basking in the sun in Florida! This is just  
a hobby, MTV/Viacom! You hear me? A HOBBY!!  
  
All: On #daria+, I joked that I was going to write a story called,  
"Trent Lane, Male Prostitute", just to freak out everyone on channel.  
They were sufficiently freaked. I had two other fics in the cooker,  
but sometimes, an unhealthy idea gets a hold on my mind, and I just  
had to go through with it, since I half-promised. If you don't  
like this one, chalk it up to my mental aberrations and pretend that it   
never happened.  
  
Special thanks to medea42, Ruthless Bunny, Robert Nowall and NomadX  
for their proofreading and corrections -- I apologize that I didn't  
take their advise, as correcting it would have driven me crazy.  
I've been sitting on this for four months now. If you don't like it,  
I'm to blame, not the Beta Readers.  
  
**********************************************  
Pekahoe, TEXAS  
one fall day, somewhere in Season Five  
**************  
  
"Sound check, one two, one two, TESTING!!!"  
  
Mystik Spiral was met by the drunken catcalls and cheers of blitzed  
fraternity boys and their sorority sisters. Max took the mike,  
oblivious to the catcalls about his hair, or rather, the lack of it.  
  
"Yeah! Alright! I want to introduce you to the members of the band.  
I'm Max, the two ugly ones are Nick and Jesse, and the stoned guy  
in front of the mike is Trent Lane! Three of us are single, so  
throw yourselves at the stage, ladies!"  
  
There were assorted boos, cheers, and laughter. Trent took over. "All  
right...this is Mystik Spiral...we might not be Mystik Spiral next year...  
I don't know what we'll be...but I saw a dog once who peed on my lawn...  
it inspired me to write this song...."  
  
With that, Mystik Spiral ripped into "Every Dog Has Its Day". The drunken  
fratboys were driven into a frenzy with the howling of the band. It looked  
like it was going to be a successful show.  
  
Standing in the back was a tall, slender blonde man with blue eyes, very  
frail looking. He had the self-confident sneer of someone who saw himself  
as very distinct, superior to the world and its petty morality. His name  
was Maxmillian. Never Max. Always 'Maxmillian'.  
  
His friend, 'Alex' -- not his real name, Maxmillian had named him after  
Alexander the Great but downgraded him to Alex after a tiff -- watched the band  
members closely, aping Maxmillian's interest in the group.  
  
"So," sniffed Maxmillian, "what do you think?"  
  
"Some of the blond guys seemed kind of interesting," said Alex.  
  
"Not desperate enough. These boys would feel more comfortable with their  
hands on a beer can than on a woman's waist! A bunch of drunks. Ugly drunks,  
too! I don't know what inspired me to come here! Every now and then, you  
find someone interesting, but...oh well."  
  
"How about tall, dark, and brooding?"  
  
"Here?!", asked Maxmillian. "I thought I was at Stepford University for the last  
hour!"  
  
"Well...look at the band. The front man is kind of interesting."  
  
"I've tried *not* looking at the band! That David Lee Roth wannabe in front  
is really irritating!"  
  
"No, not *him*, Maxmillian, the other one!"  
  
Maxmillian shielded his eyes. "Well...he's kind of lean for what we want.  
The tattoos...."  
  
"Are you kidding?", asked Alex. Alex almost shrunk at the return of Maxmillian's  
terminally hostile glare.  
  
"I mean," began Alex again, "I mean, have you ever read a romance novel? I mean,  
*that's* our demographic, so to speak. Dark. Mysterious. Tattoos.   
Kind of threatening, but young and innocent in the wiles of mature romance."  
  
"Sort of a boy band thing, you mean?" said Maxmillian. "Yeah...he *may* have  
potential. Get Shiela to get his number. I'll see the young man myself.  
You know...sometimes, Alex, you're almost useful. I'll remember that."  
Alex smiled, his gratitude quite real.  
  
******************  
******************  
  
"I dunno, man," sighed Jesse. "One thousand dollars isn't a whole lot  
of money. Especially when you have to split it four ways."  
  
Trent coughed. He couldn't count the money -- he had to drive The Tank --  
but he knew it wasn't much. "Aw, man," Trent said. Those two words said  
a lot. When you subtracted gas, food, repairs to The Tank, and equipment,  
Trent's share of the money disappeared.   
  
"Dude...we have *go* to go somewhere bigger! Like Los Angeles, even New  
York. No one's gonna see us in the middle of nowhere!"  
  
"I think...you know," said Trent, "we just have to *try* harder. I mean...  
we can't spend so much time between gigs. We have to do this full time.   
We need an agent, or something. I'm sorry, dude, but this isn't working."  
  
"Yuh." Even Jesse knew it, and he was usually the last one to know anything.  
"Trent...dude...I got an offer from The Imagination Breakers. Their lead  
guitarist, like, wrecked his arm while snowboarding. Like, they're doing  
a twenty city tour."  
  
"What are you saying, man?", said Trent.   
  
"I mean...I'm already three months overdue on the rent of my apartment...and  
like, the landlady's gonna throw me out!"  
  
"You could move in with us." 'Whoa, man, I'm really desperate here,' thought  
Trent.  
  
"Well...that's cool, man...but...." Jesse was almost begging. "I *need* the  
money, man!" He didn't say for what.  
  
Trent didn't want to know. "When do they start?"   
  
"Five days."  
  
"And how long is it gonna be?"  
  
Jesse looked out the window, away from Trent. "Two months. Twenty cities.  
I gotta let 'em know by tomorrow."  
  
*Man!* Both Jesse and Trent remained silent. Trent firmly fixed his eyes to the  
road. *Incredible. He didn't believe it would end like *this*!" Trent  
wanted the band to succeed, but in his dreams, it was Trent and Jesse, the  
Freakin' Friends, riding the road to fame. Not separately.  
  
Trent sighed. "I...look...I dunno, man. Do what you have to do."  
  
Jesse nodded. He was hurting, too. The two barely spoke all the way back to  
Lawndale. It had to end this way. It *needed* to end this way. But it  
didn't stop Trent from feeling the wound. The worst part was the   
selfishness. 'Man...without Jesse in the band...what am *I* gonna do now?'   
  
*********************  
*********************  
  
It was two o'clock when Trent pulled up in his weatherbeaten blue Chevy Nova.  
The lights were on at the Lane house. Trent wondered if imagination had  
struck Janey again. At least he'd see a friendly face.  
  
No sooner had he stepped out of the car than her heard Janey's voice. "Trent?  
TREEEENNNNTTTTT!!!" It seemed partially angry and partially scared. Trent  
found an extra reserve of energy to run up the driveway to the back door of  
the kitchen.  
  
Jane opened the door. "Trent! Thank Bob's bleeding head you're back!"  
  
"What's up?", said Trent, his natural lethargy returning.  
  
"It's Wind! Wind found the key to Dad's desk!"  
  
"Shit!" Trent ran up the stairs. Wind had come in to stay for a week or  
so. He figured that Jane would be safe with Wind, but he forgot all about  
the desk.  
  
He made it to their parents' room, Jane trailing closely behind. The desk  
looked neat, but appearances can be deceiving.  
  
"How did you know he opened it?"  
  
"Hell, Trent, *I* open it!" Trent looked at his little sister, who looked  
embarrassed. "Every now and then, when I have to, I take twenty or forty.  
But only in emergencies. I always put it back! It just looked like...less  
was there!"  
  
"How much less?"  
  
Jane sighed. "Five thousand dollars less."  
  
Trent found the manila envelope. There were one hundred dollar bills,  
twenty dollar bills in large rubber bands. Trent rapidly counted the  
money, what little was there. "Janey...we're not going to make it till the  
next payment. Not on the house, not on the car...electricity...we've got...  
like three months at *best*. And then there's Uncle Sammie in April."  
*We're screwed.*   
  
"God damn you, Wind," muttered Jane.   
  
"No...Wind...you know how he gets, sometimes. I'm surprised he didn't think  
of this earlier. After all...he ran the desk for a little while."  
  
"Well...we won't see him back. I'll put out his eyes if he comes back!  
What are we gonna tell Mom and Dad?"  
  
"I'll handle that. We'll have the money, somehow. You let me handle it,  
Janey."  
  
"So...what are you going to do?"  
  
Trent sighed. "It's two thirty and I'm dead tired. I'm going to go to bed."  
Trent could only hope that God would take him and he'd never wake up.  
  
****************************************  
  
The next week went by in a daze. Jesse left the next day. There was no  
Mystik Spiral without Jesse. Trent could never raise that kind of money  
with Max and Nick. They were good, but Jesse...man, Jesse was the heart  
of Mystik Spiral, while Trent was the brains and spirit. Nick and Max  
were, at best, extraneous appendages needed to keep the vital parts standing  
and moving.  
  
The less Jane knew, the better. If Jane hadn't been poking around, she  
never would have found out. Jane would never know, as far as he was concerned.  
For that matter, neither would his parents. He suspected that they would  
blame him...or worse, Amanda would take the option to *bug out* and uproot  
the both of them from Lawndale. Trent would be taking Janey away from her  
best friend. Sure, Daria would be in college soon...but that wasn't an  
option for Trent. Trent remembered the summer, how glad Janey was to be  
back with Daria after that Tom mess. He hated Tom. He had to blame  
*someone* for causing all this, and he didn't want to blame Wind...God damn him.   
  
Unfortunately, this left the problem of money. Five thousand dollars in three  
months was like....twenty thousand a year. After taxes, make it twenty five  
thousand. He would have to find a job that paid twenty five thousand, bare  
minimum.  
  
He looked around, and then discovered what he feared. He had no talents.  
At least, no talents that any employer cared to spend money on. He could  
work at the Mall, to his mortification, but he knew he'd have to work two  
jobs to pull serious moola...and his health just wasn't *that* great.  
Not that he was going to keel over any minute, but he was susceptible to all  
kinds of colds and respiratory infections due to his childhood vitamin  
deficiencies. He had to be careful. He couldn't push himself, or he'd  
break down and be an even bigger burden to the family.  
  
No one was hiring, and who was hiring...man, what humiliating choices.  
There was nothing to do. No one to talk to. No one to tell. Maybe  
Daria would have an idea, but Daria would tell Jane and that would be the  
end of that. Trent resolved to spend as much time as asleep as possible.  
  
He was doing just that. He thought better when he was asleep, anyway.  
  
  
  
The doorbell rang. And rang. And rang. And rang. And rang.  
  
"*Man!*" Trent forced himself up, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.  
Scratching himself, he stumbled to the door, and opened it.  
  
The man at the door wore warm-up pants and a KNICKS jacket with a LA Dodgers  
baseball cap. He wore round, smoky sunglasses. The man lowered his sunglasses  
to get a closer look at Trent. "Oh, my," was all he said.  
  
"Uh...what do you need, man?"  
  
"You are...Trent Lane, I take it?"  
  
Trent looked over at the yellow colored Porsche convertible with the white  
upholstery parked in his driveway. "Uh...yeah?"  
  
"Hi!" The man stretched out a hand. "Maxmillian. Maxmillian Kim. I have  
a business proposition."  
  
Trent did the calculus. "You...you're an *agent*?"  
  
"Hmm...welllll...only in a manner of speaking. Care to let me in? I think  
you'll find it worth your while." *And I think I will, too.*  
  
********************  
  
"Sorry, dude...soda is all we got."  
  
Maxmillian did his best to appear grateful, even though he despised soda.  
"Nice house you have here. You own it?"  
  
"Nah...mortgage...so...like, what's the proposition?"  
  
"Mister Lane...I'm going to put my cards on the table. I've done some   
background checks. You need money. I have money. That's the start of  
a business proposition right there."  
  
"Okay. So you're an agent?"  
  
"No. I don't like music, particularly. I'm not interested in music. I'm  
interested in something else. So tell me Trent...do you have a girlfriend?"  
  
"No." (What was this guy getting at, anyway?)  
  
"But...I mean you have good luck...with women...you *like* women, don't you?"  
  
Trent thought about a certain high school chick. "Yeah. That's true."  
  
"You like spending time with women? Going out with them? Movies? Dinner?  
The stuff afterwards?"  
  
"Yeah."   
  
Maxmillian thought this could work out, but the movies and the dinner....  
the boy didn't have much of a vocabulary. Couldn't hold a conversation. Better  
to just get him basic work.  
  
"I'm going to lay it on the table. You sound like a smart young man. Do you  
know what an escort service is?"  
  
"Uh...no."  
  
"Well...it's an opportunity for you to meet nice women. And get paid for it.  
Handsomely."  
  
The bell suddenly clanged in Trent's head. "Man...that's just *wrong*!"  
  
"What's wrong about it? They're happy. You're happy. Who's hurt?"  
  
"Yeah...but...I ain't no male hustler, man!"  
  
"I never said you were. But this is what you're looking at. You're looking  
at one hundred dollars a pop, *minimum*, for no more than an hour of work.  
Where in this hick town do you think that you're going to make that kind of money?"  
  
"I can do all right for myself."  
  
"Yeah, but you have a sister to take care of. Jane, that's her name, isn't it?"  
  
"Leave Janey out of this!"   
  
Maxmillian smiled. He liked it when they got all indignant. Noble idiots.  
"I'm just saying that you have responsibilites. You don't see it that way,  
but you can't just depend on yourself. I'm offering you a way out. I can  
see it. This house isn't much of anything. There are bills due...am I right?  
You only have to work for me as much as you want to. When you want to  
say, 'Fuck off, Maxmillian', I'm gone. If you said yes, Trent, I'd be happy.  
You'd be happy. And there are hundreds of lonely women who will also be  
very, very happy."  
  
"Yeah...but like...what if somebody found out?"  
  
Oh, you poor pathetic little man. When they start using logic, thought  
Maxmillian, then I know I've got them. Because they're thinking about it  
seriously. "I've done this for twelve years. Never had a problem. No one  
knows, Trent, because no one cares. If you have money, no one cares how you  
got it. The money will move you up. Give you a chance to fulfill your  
dreams, and the dreams of your family. Besides, realistically, it's not  
like you have much of a choice, is it? A dead end job? Or a creative job  
that gives you free time, and a chance to bring happiness to others?"  
If those lines didn't work, Maxmillian had at least forty other arguments,  
all written down in a notebook hidden under his bed. He would be ready for  
any objection Trent brought up. The legal objection. The moral objection.  
The medical objection. Anything. Arguments for rough guys, tough guys,  
soft guys, any guys.   
  
"Man...I just don't know...."  
  
"I'll tell you what, Mister Lane. You do *one* job for me. One little date.  
You can even choose who you want to go out with. After that, you tell me if  
you like it or hate it. I'm not going to tell anyone. I don't need the  
trouble with John Law myself."  
  
Trent thought about it. "Man...I don't know, I don't like have a *suit* or  
anything!"  
  
"You don't need one. See that car outside?"   
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"It's *yours*. On loan. Clothes are no problem. There's a finders fee  
involved, anyway. You just need a beeper. Then you're in business."  
  
Maxmillian tossed him the keys. Trent could see himself riding down  
Lawndale's streets in a yellow Porsche.  
  
"My card." Trent took the card. It read:  
  
MAXMILLIAN KIM  
Parties, Entertainment  
Call 24 hours 216-555-WHEN  
(9436)  
  
"I'll be back here tomorrow. To pick up the car. If I need to." With that,  
Maxmillian stood up. "Good luck in whatever it is you do." Maxmillian  
smiled, opened the door, and headed down the street, on foot.  
  
****************************  
  
"And that's how I got suspended from Junior High School."  
  
Daria nodded. "For liberating frogs."  
  
"I saw it as more of an...artistic statement," said Jane. "Free frogs for  
all!"  
  
"Kind of biblical?"  
  
"I...can see that. If I only knew where Mrs. Barch kept her frog supply...."  
  
"In formaldehyde," said Daria.  
  
"Riiight," said Jane. "I forgot. They're *male* frogs!"  
  
"Which, if you freed them, would *really* be an artistic statement."  
  
Trent pulled up in the Porsche. "Hey, Janey."  
  
Daria looked the car over. "Where did you get the pimpmobile?"  
  
"Uh...." The statement made him uncomfortable. "A way to earn money. One  
of my brother musicians has this car. I'm keeping it for him."  
  
"Why?", asked Daria. "Ruining *one* reputation wasn't enough for him?"  
  
"Nah. Ugly divorce. I'm hiding the car from his girlfriend."  
  
"Well...", said Jane, "any woman who would *want* this car has problems of her  
own."  
  
"You want a ride?"  
  
"Yeah," said Jane. "Just drop us off a block from Pizza. We have reputations  
of our *own*, you know."  
  
Trent took off, clicking the car into Drive. He pulled away at eighty miles  
an hour, the engine as smooth as a kitten, trailed by vanity plates that  
read U RANG.  
  
***************************  
  
The yellow Porsche pulled up at the Lane's house. Trent was beginning to  
feel very protective of Maxmillian's car. It was a real beauty, and it  
ran about a hundred times better than his jalopy.  
  
For a few moments he relaxed in the white upholstery. Looking at the  
glove compartment, he decided to open it, just to find the manual and  
find out more about this particular model of Porsche.  
  
Inside the glove compartment, on top of the manual, he found a pair of  
women's underwear. Thong underwear. Short. Trent gave a low whistle.  
He put the underwear back and closed the door.  
  
Janey and Daria *did* like the ride, despite their protestations, Trent thought.  
It was the first time he ever turned corners at eighty miles an hour.  
Maybe....  
  
It was too late. He had decided. He was going to do it. One time. What was  
the harm?  
  
He fished the card out of his pocket, and dialed the number. There were  
three rings, and a voice answered.  
  
"Maxmillian Kim. Entertainment. Can I help you?"  
  
"Uh...yeah...this is Trent Lane."  
  
"Trent! What's up?"  
  
"Uh...I think...I'm *ready*. I think I'm going to do this. One time, at least."  
  
"Splendid. Do you know where the Coke and Ostrich is?"  
  
*An uptown type bar.* "Yeah."  
  
"Meet me there. One hour. You need clothes to go with your new ride."  
  
******************************************  
  
Trent and Maxmillian rode up the dark street in the Porsche. Trent wore  
aviator sunglasses, and a bomber jacket. His watch had been replaced with  
a heavy gold Rolex. Under the jacket, he wore one of his old t-shirts.  
Heavy new leather boots rounded out the outfit.  
  
"Now Trent, all you'll be doing tonight is the sex part. You *can* perform,  
right? I mean, you're at your sexual peak, so to speak. Don't have the  
clap or anything like that? Don't lie to me."  
  
"No way, man."  
  
"Good. Here's how it works. This is how we stay out of trouble with the  
law. What happens is that your are there to pick up your 'date'. Your  
date likes you so much that she decides to throw off all of her clothes  
right there and give you sex. As you leave, you find the money. You  
always make sure that the money is there *before* you go in, or you back  
out. You don't feel comfortable, whatever.  
  
"Most of these women know how to use a service like this. If not, we scope  
them out ahead of time, and they have to make a money-for-sex offer first,  
so there's no entrapment. They'll leave the money somewhere prominent.  
As you leave, you'll take the money. It's not theft, since theft has to  
be reported to the police. It's understood by everyone that you'll take the  
money. They want it that way and we want it that way.  
  
"Getting you up to full service will take a while. Right now, you're on  
special service. You're just there for the old one-two. Sometimes they'll  
want to talk to you. Other times, they just want a boy toy. Remember though,  
Trent, that it's *your dime*. You're not getting paid extra to talk to them.  
Sometimes you'll get repeat business, sometimes not. Don't take it personally.  
If you're any good, you'll have repeat customers. If you feel uncomfortable,  
for whatever reason, leave. But once your clothes are off, you're expected to  
finish the job. Got it?"  
  
"Yeah man. I got it."  
  
"Hmm," said Maxmillian, "now...she's not very good looking.   
But you said you wanted the extra money. Are you *sure* you can handle that?"  
  
"Yeah." Trent thought that maybe if the woman wasn't good looking, he wouldn't  
feel under so much pressure.  
  
"Good. It's time. Go get 'em, tiger." With that, Maxmillian found a place  
to park.  
  
Trent walked up the lonely path to the house. "WARNING : PROTECTED BY STOCKWELL  
SECURITY SYSTEM." As he made his way to the door, he rang a doorbell. A  
closed-circuit camera swiveled its red eye in Trent's direction.   
  
"Whooooo's there?"  
  
"Uh...it's your escort, ma'am. Entertainment Escorts."  
  
The door opened. It was a chubby woman. Oriental. Wearing...a see-through  
nightie? What little charms she had were there for Trent to see.  
  
"Ah, yes. Yooooou must be the escort! And...you are such a fine looking  
young man! Yes, that's right! How...old are you?"  
  
Trent was told what to say. "Eighteen, ma'am."  
  
"Ohhhh! I can't believe it! Eighteen, and doing a job like this! I suppose  
you'll want to see my bedroom, next, eh?"  
  
"Yes'm."  
  
"You young people...you've only got one thing on your minds! One thing!"  
The woman smiled, taking off her glasses. "Call me *Angela*," she said.  
  
The door closed. Maxmillian smiled, from a far away distance. The last  
one ran out, screaming. Then again, the night was just beginning.  
  
***************************  
  
One hour later, Trent left the residence. Maxmillian pulled up in the Porsche,  
and they took off.   
  
"So, Mister Lane...how was it?"  
  
Trent thought for a minute. "You know...it wasn't all that bad. I mean...  
I've had sex with chicks before, and she was better than a few of them.  
I just think...she's, like...*lonely*, man."  
  
"Well, don't get too attached to them. Women. Women are fickle. You can  
never really trust them. Never get too attached to a client. They'll break  
your heart."  
  
"Nah. I mean...I think she could like, have a chance with a guy, maybe her  
age. If she would just, like, loosen up."  
  
"Well," chuckled Maxmillian, "her loss is our gain. Nice way to earn one hundred  
fifty dollars, isn't it? Believe me, with her security system, she can  
afford it." He didn't tell Trent that he had already taken his fifty percent  
beforehand. "And you did something nice for a pathetic middle-aged lady.  
She'll be dreaming all night about you! So...what do you think of 'the life'?"  
  
"I think I can do this. Another night, at least." Four thousand nine hundred  
dollars to go....  
  
"Good. But Trent...if you want for me to pick and choose your clients, you  
might have to wait a long time for money. This is a *service* industry.  
We're just a more glamourous form of McDonald's. You have to be on call.  
But I'll tell you...you handled yourself well." Maxmillian laughed.   
"Believe you me, Angela Li is no picnic! I've done her myself. Too weird  
a vibe."  
  
"Angela...*Li*?" Jane had made comments about her crazy oriental principal,  
Ms. Li. She wasn't the principal when *he*  
was at Lawndale High! Was that...*her*? Shiiiiit!  
  
"Yeah. I think she's a teacher or something. Poor kids. Anyway, Trent,  
how would you like to start carrying a beeper?"  
  
*******************************************  
  
"Janey! Janey, don't walk out!"  
  
"I can't believe it!" Jane dragged her suitcase down the stairs, a suitcase  
even older than her. "My brother, the *whore*! I can't believe you'd even  
think of doing it with...my principal!"  
  
"How did you know?"  
  
"Know?", said Jane, angrily. "*She* knows, you dummy! Don't you remember  
she met you before? She invited me to her office! She said that my  
good grades were assured! As long as my big brother came over and  
'serviced' her! Goddamn it, I'm being blackmailed! This is all your fault!  
If you had gotten off your ass and *done* something instead of playing  
in that stupid loser band of yours, we wouldn't be in this mess!", Jane  
said. Trent knew he was dealing with the angry, vindictive Janey. Anything  
could happen.  
  
"Where are you going, Janey?"  
  
"Don't call me Janey! You're NOT my brother!!" Jane took her backpack and  
headed for the door. "Daria knows!! The whole school knows!! I'm ruined!!!  
I'm going to find Mom, or Penny, or somebody!! Wait until *they* find out!"  
  
The door slammed. And then, Trent woke up.  
  
  
  
He was in his room, all alone. *It was a dream. Just a dream. Thank God.*  
  
Suddenly, he felt sick. To his stomach. He ran to the bathroom, preparing to  
throw up. But all he had were the dry heaves. He couldn't even get nausea  
right. Damn.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
"Trent, my young man, you seem to be quite ambitious. You're working your  
way into my good graces very rapidly. You've answered all my calls, and  
don't dick me like a lot of my workers. I like that."  
  
"Cool. Uh...look, Maxmillian...do you have a $200 job I can do?"  
  
"Two hundred, hm?" Max looked at his book. "You know, Trent, you're not  
a candidate for full service, just yet. You need to know manners, conversation,  
panache. I need to teach you fashion, grace, style. You could always move  
in with me, you know."  
  
Trent knew, and he suspected. "No thanks, man...gotta take care of Janey."  
Besides, the sooner he got five thousand dollars, the sooner he could get  
away from this Maxmillian, who was creeping him out.  
  
"Well, Trent, to be blunt I have much more experienced workers. The only  
way you're going to get two hundred a night is if you go to the...red list."  
The red list was the list of clients who were either very difficult or  
very peculiar. "But I'm going to do you a favor. I'm going to hook you   
up with someone who's not *that* much of a problem. I mean, she can be  
a problem, at times. If you catch her in a bad mood, I feel sorry for you.  
But if she's in a good mood, it will be easy." He didn't tell him about the  
time she hospitalized one of his workers. She was in a bad mood, that day.  
  
"Okay...I'll take it."   
  
"See yourself in. Eight o'clock sharp. Don't be late. She hates that."  
  
*********************************  
  
Trent made his way to the apartment. Not much of an apartment. By this  
time, Trent was becoming a good judge of his clients. He was becoming  
class conscious. This one didn't make a lot of money. He wondered what  
she was like.  
  
The door opened, before he could knock. She must have been waiting.  
  
"Get in here!" Before he could protest, Trent was yanked inside.  
  
She looked him over. "Skinny, eh? I *like* skinny!"  
  
"Yes'm."  
  
"It's not that I use a service like this all the time, you know!", she said,  
"merely that the person I'm seeing is USING THE EXCUSE THAT HIS MOTHER IS  
SICK TO AVOID ME!! 'I'm sorry I can't see you Janet, boo hoo...my mother  
is on her deathbed!' Well, I HAVE NEEDS!! The needs of a WOMAN! The  
needs that NO MAN COULD UNDERSTAND, NOT IF HE LIVED TO BE A MILLION,  
BILLION YEARS OLD!! Men are only good for ONE THING, and my VIBRATOR DOES  
A BETTER JOB!!"  
  
"Uhhh...."  
  
"Oh, shut up! Get to work, Skinny!!"  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Alex got out of bed to get Maxmillian some orange juice. "You know, Alex,  
there is one thing I like about you."  
  
"Besides the usual?"  
  
"Yes. You have a good taste in talent. Trent is working out splendidly!"  
  
"For one shot jobs, that is. Unless you have some client who likes slumming  
around with rough trade."  
  
"Well, considering the high praise he got from last night's client,   
I'm going to be keeping him around for a while. He's a gold mine, you know.  
I just have to find his weakness. The thing that's going to keep him in  
the stable for a long time."  
  
Alex smiled. "You're the king at finding a man's weakness."  
  
"I know I am," said Maxmillian. "I suspect I can start with his sister.  
That's something. He's got to have some passion. The clothes, the cars,  
the *music*. Maybe I'll introduce him to someone. Let him cut a record.  
Keep him hanging on until I can let his own dreams tear him up."  
  
"What did you say, Maxmillian? If a man doesn't have a weakness, *make one*."  
  
"I think it will be easy. All of these teenagers think they're the kings of  
the world. They can't begin to imagine how naive they really are. 'Please  
allow me to introduce myself...I'm a man of wealth...and taste'", sang  
Maxmillian. "Alex, get me my gun. I'm driving out to the range. I feel  
like shooting something today."  
  
*************************************  
  
"I don't get it," said Trent. "I mean...you're so young...and pretty."  
  
"Thank you!", the woman said. She sounded perky, and wanted to talk.  
Technically, he was only there for the in and out, but when girls wanted  
to talk to him, he couldn't help but feel that he should be there.  
They didn't want *him*, he felt sometimes. He felt that they were looking  
for...something bigger. Something that he represented, at least as a symbol.  
  
The woman brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. "Did you know that no   
one says I'm young and pretty? Well, there was a  
seventeen year old boy who was after me last year. Does that count?"  
  
Trent was trying to put his finger on the feeling of deja vu he was having.  
He'd seen this woman, this house before. It looked  
so familiar. "I'd say it counts, ma'am."  
  
"Please! Don't call me 'ma'am'! Call me Ashley-Amber!"  
  
"Uhh...." Trent always gave up on that point. He always called them by their  
first names, even though he didn't know them that well. "Ashley-Amber...why  
do you need a guy like me at all?"  
  
"Oh...well...it's just that...." Suddenly, unexpectedly, she began to cry.  
  
"What's wrong...Ashley-Amber?"  
  
Ashley-Amber managed to stop crying and compose herself. She stood up in her  
hip-hugger jeans and made her way to a wooden dresser, removing a small  
envelope taped behind the dresser. "Do you like the finish? I bought  
it in this *adorable* Amish village! I only wish they had it...in blue!  
WAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!", she said, making a spectacle of herself again.  
  
Trent looked at the photographs handed to him by Ashley. "Okay...who's that?"  
  
"That's (sob!) Steve Taylor, the soon-to-be-ex-husband-who-I'm-going-to-take-for-  
everything-he's-got!!" Ashley-Amber's face sudddenly turned red. She didn't  
look so much as sad as satanic.  
  
"Uh...yeah...and who...*WHOA*."  
  
"*That* is Ms. Nancy Nabakov. The son-of-a-bitch's secretary! (sob) He told  
me she was sixty years old!!"  
  
Whoever she was, Nancy Nabakov looked very nice nude. She also looked very  
blond, not unlike the present Ms. Ashley-Amber Taylor. Trent wondered who  
took the pictures.  
  
"So...you're calling me for revenge? I don't know...."  
  
"Of *course* I am! I know the whole story! He's like...a mean old *copycat*!  
I'm sure he did the same thing with his *first* wife when he divorced her!  
But I was just-too-SMART for him! He gave me the same excuse he used to give  
his first wife! And I knew the old COPYCAT was up to something!  
  
Indignantly, Ashley-Amber whined, "And he gave me $200 to 'buy myself something  
pretty!' Well...I did, tee hee! I'd like to see the look on his face, if  
he saw you and me, naked, in the jacuzzi together!!"  
  
"Your husband is not...uh...a *violent* man, is he?"  
  
"*Him*? I've got bite, too! Mmmmmm....(giggle)...I'm starting to get kind  
of horny!"  
  
*Uh-oh.* It was going to be a long night. Before he took off anything,  
Trent wanted to make sure the doors were locked, and look for miscellaneous  
firearms.  
  
****************************************************  
  
Angie pulled up to the Taylor household in her car. "Brittany, how could  
you? Donny's a member of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes! *You* said  
you'd bring me a Bible!"  
  
"Gee, Angie!", squeaked Brittany. "It's not *my* fault that you need a bible.  
Why would you want to go out with a...uh...bible-y guy anyway?" She was  
sure that religion had a name! She just couldn't remember it. (Twirl hair, now....)  
  
"Have you *seen* Donny? In tight pants? He's...uh...." Angie couldn't even  
say it out loud. She whispered it to Brittany.  
  
"Ohhhh! I get it!!", gasped Brittany. Donny was like Kevin, in other   
words. "Gifted", as he called it. "Gifted *and* talented!" They both   
squealed with laughter.  
  
"You stay parked here, while I get it!" She thought she knew where it was.  
A black book that said, "Bible" on it. If she was right, her father had one  
in his bedroom.  
  
She made her way up the stairs. Funny, Ashley-Amber wasn't home, or didn't seem to  
be. Brian was at football practice. But if no one was home...why were  
all the lights on and the doors locked?  
  
Brittany opened the door to the bedroom. What she saw defied description.  
Her mother, on the bottom of somebody's scrawny-looking naked body. He  
didn't have many muscles...except for one apparently big one. What would  
Angie say about *this* guy? ooooooo!  
  
It wasn't her Dad's body, that's for sure. "Oh, yes....," moaned Ashley-Amber...  
"yes....*yes*....", oblivious to the open door.  
  
Trent, however, heard it. He turned and for the first time Trent and Brittany  
made eye contact. Brittany went "eap!" and rapidly closed the door.  
  
"Uh -- "  
  
" -- shut up!," said Ashley-Amber. "I'm paying you to be quiet! Just, like,  
go to work, studmuffin!"  
  
*In for a penny, in for a pound.* Maybe she didn't see him, anyway.  
He suspected it was one of Janey's friends. His need to get the money  
suddenly had a deadline, if things didn't go well.  
  
***************************************  
  
"Trent. You know, you're the rising star of Entertainment escorts. I  
believe you and I could make quite a nice amount of spare change together.  
It's time to move you up to full service. You'll spend the entire evening  
with your clients, rather than just the hour. Of course, you'll have to  
learn how to dress, and have to take a few courses in diction and manners.  
Maybe bulk up a little bit. You do have charisma, though."  
  
"Uh, Maxmillian...I want to go up the red list. Again."  
  
"Oh, my. I don't think Janet Barch has called recently. Really, Trent...  
I don't know." (Hook him into it, Maxmillian thought.)  
  
"Don't you have...anyone else?"  
  
"Well...there are a few. Listen, Trent...how do you feel about...*male*  
clients?"  
  
"Whoa."  
  
"It's the same thing, really, Trent."  
  
"I don't think doing it with a guy can be considered the 'same thing'. I'm  
mean, I'm cool with that -- "  
  
" -- then why should it be any different from what you're doing now?"  
  
"I mean, if they pay's the same, I'm going to stay with women."  
  
"Well, look at it this way, Trent. Pay is a relative thing. Pay is determined  
by *what the client wants*. You see, there's a process of illusion going on  
here. If the illusion disappears, then there's no clientele. You don't  
have to be gay to have gay sex. Ask anyone in prison. I think you could make  
money. More money than what you're making now. Everyone can see that you've...  
you've got something. *It*. The kind of thing that turns women on...but I'll  
bet that it turns guys on even more." (Yes, your reluctance, for example.  
It means vulnerability. People are turned on by vulnerability. To protect it...  
or to exploit it.)  
  
"I don't know -- "  
  
"I can get you $250 for the first night." Actually, he couldn't. No one   
was going to pay $250, not without some added kink. Hell, a starter on the  
street could expect $50, at best. No need for Trent to know that.   
Maxmillian would just  
make up the difference on his own. "This guy will *pay in advance.* He's  
a sweet kid, really. He's not one of those whips and chains guys!"  
  
"-- yeah, but --- "  
  
"Trent." Time not to be so nice. "I've got three guys that are in training.  
If you want out of the game, that's fine. They'll jump at the chance. I've  
got a business to run. Tell me that you're going to do this before I hang  
up."  
  
"I don't know, man -- "  
  
" -- goodbye, Trent -- "  
  
"Wait!" He couldn't believe these words were coming out of his mouth. "I'll...  
I'll do it." He was still a thousand short. He needed to close the gap  
quickly, to get out of this job as fast as he could.  
  
"Cool. Tonight. The James Hotel. Room 712. Ten O'Clock. With Bells On.  
I'll give you the money when you come...out." With that, Maxmillian hung up.  
  
****************************************************************  
  
Down the Mighty Hallways of Lawndale, Daria and Jane made their way through  
another mind-numbing day. "Well, Jane, that does it. My humiliation is  
complete."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"Those stupid yearbook pictures. Those gowns they wear aren't even real.  
Sitting in a gym in a bra and the top half of a gown is not my idea of  
a good time."  
  
"I hear ya," said Jane. "Of course, it's not a problem with me."  
  
"I always wanted to know how you got out of yearbook pictures."  
  
"I'm an artist," said Jane. "My eyes are highly trained after years of  
experience in dim light. I'm highly sensitive to light. Very photosensitive.  
Wouldn't want to have a lawsuit, would we?"  
  
"And they *believe* that?"  
  
"I have a doctor's note."  
  
"From who?"  
  
"Doctor Arnglover. Lawndale Civic Park, fourth bench. At least, he claims  
he's a doctor. Why would he lie?"  
  
"I'd like to see this doctor's note."  
  
"Can't," said Jane. "It's in my permanent record. And it's illegible enough  
to be a real doctor's note."  
  
"So you won't have a picture in the senior yearbook."  
  
"No, I'll just be the only one in a gown and sunglasses."  
  
"JANE LANE!!"  
  
The two turned around. Brittany was right behind them.  
  
"Uh oh. Someone cheered from the wrong side of the bed this morning," said  
Daria.  
  
"I want to see you! In the bathroom! *Now*!!", shouted Brittany.  
  
Jane turned to Daria. "This might take a while."  
  
"Well, provide any help you can," said Daria as she watched the two enter the  
bathroom. The door closed.  
  
"Hm. I suppose I'll just wait out *here*, then!", Daria said, hoping to be  
annoying. They probably couldn't hear you. *Damn!*  
  
**********************  
  
She could hear Brittany's muffled shouting. Then, a banging noise.  
Daria was wondering what the hell was going on in there.  
  
Then, silence.  
  
Then, Brittany storming out of the bathroom.  
  
Daria entered. Jane was sitting in the floor, back against the stall supports,  
pulling up her jacket.  
  
"Uh...do I even what to *know* what that was about?"  
  
"I don't know, either," said Jane, standing up. "Except that Brittany Taylor  
just threatened to kill me."  
  
"What? Or, better yet, why?"  
  
"She says that...." Jane turned around. "She says that she...caught my brother  
in bed with her mother. She accused me of trying to wreck their marriage.  
Or at least, having a part in it. I was kind of confused by what she was saying."  
  
"That's not hard. Are you sure Brittany wasn't mistaken? Brittany's not the  
most reliable of eye witnesses."  
  
"Earrings, goatee, black hair, tattoos...she had it all right. And she has  
met Trent before. Remember when we worked on that project?"  
  
"Oh, right. So...can you see Trent and Ashley-Amber Taylor as a couple?"  
  
"No. But I can say one thing," said Jane, "Brittany sure was angry.   
Brittany certainly thinks it's true."  
  
"Like I said...we're talking about *Brittany* here. Then again, Trent might  
be slumming. You better ask your brother what he's up to."  
  
"I don't know. Trent says he works for a messenger service. And...there's  
something different about him."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Well, he's cleaner, for one thing."  
  
"That's a bad sign," said Daria.  
  
"That, and he's wanting to replace the furniture in the living room."  
  
"That's an even *worse* sign. Before Brittany puts the first notch on her  
pom-poms, you better figure out what's going on. Either that, or hide  
your brother."  
  
"Yeah. Care to hang around with me the rest of the day?"  
  
"I have nothing better to do."  
  
"Good. I need a bodyguard." Jane saw the look in Daria's eyes. "Well, an  
eyewitness, anyway."  
  
*******************************************************  
  
The James Hotel. Trent watched the elevators go up. One, two, three...seven.  
  
He had been here before. It seemed that The James Hotel and Entertainment  
Escorts had an understand. Every time he used the elevator, the concierge  
would give him the oddest look. Now, he knew why.  
  
Of course, he could just turn around and walk out. Which would mean a disaster.  
The guy would be angry, Maxmillian would be angry, and Trent would be out of   
a job. Trent was a great deal out of the hole financially, but not quite there  
yet.   
  
So, how was he going to do this? Jeez, how *did* guys do this? He figured he  
was in a blowjob, which he didn't look forward to, and anal sex, which  
he *definitely* didn't look forward to. He should leave.  
  
But he didn't. He wondered why. There was an answer to that question, and  
Trent knew it was an unpleasant one. Something that he twirled in the back   
of his mind, something that was making him keep doing this, but he didn't know  
why. Trent wasn't sure he'd be happy when the answer came to him.  
  
There he was. The door. Once he rang the bell, or knocked, he was never  
going to be the same again.  
  
*Shit. Might as well get it over with.*  
  
Trent rang the bell. "Coming!", said a male voice, inside the apartment.   
  
The door opened. A young, thin, blonde man with glasses and a nice smile  
opened the door. This guy looked athletic. Trent wondered why he needed an  
escort. Somehow, he looked familiar.  
  
"You must be the man from Entertainment Escorts. Come in." Trent stepped  
into the hotel room. Comfortable, upper scale. The large bed dominated  
the room, as with most hotel rooms. Trent was now becoming very nervous.  
  
"I've never seen *you* before, but you *are* kind of cute." The man washed  
his hands, and, before turning off the faucets, washed his face. He unbuttoned  
the top two buttons of his shirt. Trent took off his sunglasses, trying to  
find a place to put them.  
  
"So, why don't we....oh *SHIT*!"  
  
Trent looked at the guy with the wet face. "Uh...oh, *man*! Kurt Miller!"  
  
"Trent Lane!"  
  
The two looked each other over, neither believing their eyes.   
  
"You were the captain of the Lawndale Swim Team. Like...what are you doing,  
*here*?"  
  
"I should ask you that question, Trent. I never thought you were *gay*!"  
  
"Uh...not really. This is just a job." Trent sat down on the bed. "I mean...  
aw, man, I don't know what I mean."  
  
"Wow," was all Kurt had to say.  
  
"I mean...you used to hang around with Tommy Sherman and his crew."  
  
"Yeah. But I don't think I really *knew* then. I went out on dates, but for  
some reason...I just didn't feel comfortable. So I went off to college, and  
my roommate...I was in bed, and then he climbed in. And after it was all  
over, all I could think was, 'now I know what the problem is'. It was good.  
That was the problem."  
  
Kurt sat down. "Trent, man, what happened to you? I mean, we didn't know  
each other, and I'm on fall break with my parents. They think I'm out  
clubbing."  
  
"Uh...I'm in a band. Or trying to be in one."  
  
"And you turn tricks to raise money?"  
  
"Aw, man!"  
  
"No, no way, it's just...I mean," said Kurt, apologetically, "sorry, man.  
I didn't want to bring you down. It's just that...well, you always hung out  
with Jesse Moreno. You were so tight among the semi-reject crowd, and I  
was always so tight with the jock-sniffers. I mean, if I had to think of  
someone who would end up in an escort service, you'd be the last guy I'd  
pick."  
  
"Well," answered Trent, "if there was anybody who wouldn't have trouble  
picking up chicks...or guys...it'd be you, man. Like, what are you doing  
here. Paying $250?"  
  
"*Two-fifty*? Holy shit! I thought it was a hundred! That's what I paid  
the man from the escort service!" Kurt looked frightened. "You're not going  
to...*tell* anyone, are you?"  
  
"No way, man." Trent thought about it. "There must have been a mix-up.  
I'll straighten it out. You're cool."  
  
"Good! Because", said Kurt, still a little shaken. "It's just that...they  
don't *know* man. No one knows. Damn, I am *sooo* in the closet."  
  
"That's all right, man. Everyone like, has to walk his own path, you know."  
  
"Yeah, but Trent...don't you *worry*? About AIDS and crap like that? I  
worry about it all the time! I mean, I just...let the need build up  
until I can't stand it anymore. And then, I call a guy from an escort service.  
They're discreet."  
  
"I wear protection, dude." Trent knew that was a lie. Sometimes, the women  
didn't want him to. They were probably on birth control, but STDs still worried  
him.  
  
"Yeah, but...you don't get it. I'm ashamed of doing this. I figured you would  
be, too."  
  
"Well...it's just that...." *It's just that I'm a failure at everything else  
in life. This is the only thing I'm good at.* It came to him, unbidden.  
The thought that he was afraid to verbalize. Now, he knew why he stayed.  
He had money for the first time in his life. He could go places. And he  
really couldn't do anything else. Mystik Spiral was over. He was on a short  
train to Loserville, and this was the only transfer ticket he knew how to take.  
  
He was a male hustler. He wasn't any better than that.  
  
"So," said Trent. "Do you want to...still do it?"  
  
"Uh...no, man," Kurt said. "I don't feel like doing it right now. Let's  
order from room service. We can catch up."  
  
********************************************  
  
"And DeMartino's still there?"  
  
"My sis talks about him all the time. There haven't been a lot of changes  
in Lawndale since you left. Nothing changes here, man."  
  
*Except you, Trent*, thought Kurt. "You know...I have a girlfriend. Sorority  
Sister, Delta Chi. I'm going to medical school after I graduate. And she  
still doesn't know. No one knows. I don't think anyone is ever going to know.  
Because if they found out...I just can't deal with the rejection."  
  
"Why do you go out with her, then?"  
  
"*She* was the one who wanted to hook up with me. I wonder if she'd even care.  
It means everything to her. It doesn't mean anything to me."  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Heh. Looks like I'm learning to lie to myself pretty well. Part of me  
wishes that I weren't gay, that I could just be straight like everyone  
else. But another part of me never wants to be straight. Every now and then....  
Oh well. I think we're done with the cheesecake."  
  
"Yeah. You know," said Trent. "I hope you work it out. You should come out.  
You're a cool guy. You don't need the world's disrespect. For a jock...you're  
all right."  
  
"Thanks. And...Trent...if you ever decide that you *are* gay...well...."  
Kurt wrote out his phone number and address and gave them to Trent. "A man   
can dream, can't he? Keep in touch...at least." With that, Kurt took his  
coat and left the hotel room.  
  
************************************  
  
Jane decided to look for evidence. After all, it was Daria that suggested  
it. She decided to look through Trent's clothing. Perhaps, there would  
be some long, blonde hairs dangling through his shirt. After all, Trent  
never washed his clothes, anyway.  
  
Of course, this meant that she had to rummage through The Closet of Dread,  
where no man or woman willingly went. "I think I'll need some...insurance."  
With that, Jane went under the kitchen sink to get the thick rubber gloves  
she'd need to protect her hands from unhappy fungi.  
  
"No...even so...." Jane thought a little while.  
  
************************  
  
She was now ready. She opened the closet, wearing her large yellow rubber  
gloves and her arc-welding mask.  
  
"Whoa!"  
  
The closet had been *cleaned*. CLEANED! There were no dirty clothes anywhere.  
Someone had actually come into the house and replaced the rotten shelving.  
And the clothes.  
  
Jane hesitantly touched the shirt. It was silk. And there was a powder-blue  
tie! Leather belts, gloves, boots...*aftershave*. This was not the Trent  
she knew. Not at all.  
  
The socks had been even been folded. "Truly," said Jane, "the touch of evil  
has entered the Lane household." She pulled out her tweezers and her plastic  
baggie to look for hairs, although she expected to find none. The damn  
closet was just too damn clean.  
  
There was a bulge in the suit pocket that Jane felt compelled to examine.  
Inside was a pack of business cards marked, "Entertainment Escorts".  
  
Escort? **TRENT???***  
  
It all clicked into place. "He *was* fucking Ashley-Amber....", Jane  
mumbled. It explained his late night absences with his "messenger service".  
The beeper. Why he had that fancy ugly yellow car.  
  
Jane sat down, trying to figure it all out. There was only one pair of  
lips that could explain it to her. It was time to make a phone call.  
  
**************************  
  
"Entertainment Escorts."  
  
Uh...yeah. Hi...uh, look, I'm a first time user of this service....  
  
"Really? Where did you hear about this service?"  
  
Uh...I have a friend who's very familiar with it. It was recommended very  
highly.  
  
"Care to name your friend? Your friend might be in line for a discount."  
  
Well...I wouldn't want to embarass anyone. I'm looking for a man. A special  
kind of man.  
  
"We have all kinds of men. Are you suggesting someone?"  
  
She mentioned a man called Trent. Lanky sort of chap. Very musical.  
I think that's the man I'd like to see.  
  
"All right, ma'am. Give me the address...you *do* know how this service  
works?"  
  
I have inside info. There will be no mistakes. Nosiree.  
  
"Well...are you that confident?"  
  
I think this Trent fellow can satisfy my needs.  
  
"Okay. What's the address?" Maximillian took down the   
address. "Thank you ma'am. You'll see Trent tomorrow   
night. Thank you for using our service."  
  
Maximillian hung up his phone. "Stupid little girl. I   
don't know what this address is, but the number on my   
Caller ID display looks too familiar." It was time to   
call Alex. Jane Lane wasn't going to cause any   
problems. Not now, not ever.   
  
********************************************  
  
Trent pulled up to the house in the Porsche. He was surprised that he  
hadn't met Daria or Janey coming back on the way from school.   
  
He hadn't taken Kurt's money, so he still needed to do a couple more  
jobs. Then, he could be through. Maybe doing gay sex wouldn't be  
*that* bad. He could just pretend he was somewhere else. Of course,  
there was no guarantee that every gay man in Lawndale was a Kurt  
Miller.  
  
Come to think of it, Trent had no guarantee that Kurt Miller would  
keep his secret. The thought gnawed uneasily in his mind. He and  
Kurt hadn't exactly been friends in high school. What if Kurt decided  
to plaster it all over Lawndale?   
  
The phone rang. Usually, Trent would let it ring at least thirty times.  
That way, you could be sure it wasn't a bill collector. Instead, he  
calmly picked up the phone. "Lane Residence."  
  
Trent? This is Daria! Jane's at Lawndale Memorial! She was hit by  
a car!  
  
*What?* "When did this happen?"  
  
Sometime this morning, when she was out jogging. I'm with her right now!  
You need to come pick her up!  
  
"Is Janey okay?"  
  
The doctors say it was a clean break. They're just going to put her in  
a cast and let her go home. I'm sorry I couldn't get in touch with you some  
other way.  
  
"That's okay. I'll be there. Bye." Damn! Janey! And...now there would  
be bills! Bills from the doctors! Insurance! He saw no way out of the hole  
he was digging himself...except for more work.  
  
********************************************  
  
"It's a pity they don't have blue bandages. Or something in a shade of light  
green, perhaps?"  
  
Daria looked Jane over. "Something tells me that you're going to color coordinate  
your convalescence."  
  
"Please. Don't make me sound like your sister. I'm an *artist*."  
  
Trent ran into the ER. "Janey!"  
  
"Hey, Trent. Check out my new cast! Wanna sign it?"  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"*Now* I'm okay. They gave me some neat drugs, and a prescription. Of course,  
I won't be running for six weeks. The doctors say, however, that it could have  
been a lot worse."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"This AM I was jogging along Bruce Lane, as usual. All of a sudden, I could  
see this car swerving in my direction on the side of the road. It had its  
lights off, and I was a bit suspicious. Suddenly, it picked up speed. If  
I hadn't jumped, I'd probably be worse off."  
  
"Who picked you up?"  
  
"Nobody. It was six AM. I hobbled, broken leg and all, to Roscoe's gas station,  
called an ambulance, then called Daria." Jane frowned. "You weren't home."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Looks like I won't be making my appointment tonight," said Jane.  
  
"With who?", asked Daria.  
  
"Entertainment Escort Service. It's a cheap way to buy yourself a date.  
Or to buy yourself a cheap date. Whatever."  
  
"*Oh*," said Trent.  
  
"Listen...Daria...I'm going to be okay. I'm going to have Trent take me home.  
After all, the yellow of this cast matches his car."  
  
"Through no fault of his own," said Daria. "I always said you were crazy to  
be running by yourself in the morning."  
  
"But *you* won't run with me," answered Jane. "Oh, *Trent*. Chauffeur me  
to your pleasure palace!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"*Home.*" Jane voice had a slight patina of agitation. Daria didn't notice it...  
but Trent did.  
  
***********************************  
  
"Trent...I could have been killed out there. Out on the road. I know it  
was a stupid thing of me to do, but how did you get involved in this so deep?"  
  
"I had to find a way to make back the money that Wind took."  
  
"*Why?* We could have moved. I could have found someone to take me in.  
You could have watched Jesse's apartment for him. Any job would have  
paid the rent on that rattrap he lives in."  
  
"I didn't want you to worry, Janey."  
  
"Trent! I'm not a little girl! I don't want you hurting yourself! And now.  
Oh, hell. Now I'm worried about you more than ever. How...could you *do*  
something like that?"  
  
*It was easy. Too easy.* "I don't know, Janey. It's just that...." Trent  
didn't say anything after that.  
  
Jane figured that somehow, there was no explanation. No easy explanation.  
"Trent." She took his hand. "Promise me...PROMISE me you won't do this  
anymore. Pleeeease."  
  
Trent sighed. "All right, Janey. I'll stop. I'll call Maxmillian up and   
tell him off right now."  
  
"Thank *God*! I'll immediately begin scourging your closet of the evil that  
rests within. It's almost like there's a third person living here."  
  
"Are you sure Summer didn't sneak back in?" The two smiled. Jane grabbed  
her crutch and made her way to the living room. She'd be sleeping there  
tonight until she could figure out a way to get up and down the stairs more  
easily.  
  
As for Trent...he had a few words with Maxmillian. He'd see him personally,  
this time.  
  
****************************************************  
  
"Why Trent," said Maxmillian. "Always glad to see you. Get the man a seat,  
Alex."  
  
"Never mind. I just want you to stay away from Janey. I'm getting out  
of this job and we're getting out of Lawndale."  
  
"Are you? Alex, leave the room. I want to talk to Trent for a little  
bit." Alex brought the seat, nodded to Maxmillian, and left.  
  
"I'm not going to be sitting down, man. I'm just here to deliver the  
message."  
  
"Reeeeeally? Well, I'm here to deliver a message, too. You don't have  
eyes in the back of your head."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"It means that your sister, Jane Lane, can't be under your wings for her  
entire life. You know...something bad could happen to her."  
  
The look on Trent's face indicated an anger rarely seen from him. "It  
had better not."  
  
"Of course, I would be willing to provide my own insurance against that  
ever happening. You know, I'm a wealthy man. Jane would never have to  
worry about anything. College, travel, you name it. And all you have to  
do is stay with me. Quid pro quo. Jane is taken care of...until she can  
take care of herself. Then...you can go.  
  
"I mean, let's face it, Trent," Maxmillian said, standing up, "what kind of  
future do you have? What kind of band is going to have as its front man  
a male prostitute? That can buy publicity, all right. Bad publicity.  
I'm sure that parents are going to let their daughters go to a Mystik Spiral  
concert, or any group that you care to front, knowing that their prides and  
joys are being sung to by a male whore. You might always get the Fire Island  
crowd to listen...but it's a bad vibe. And besides, it's going to be   
much harder for you to get your foot in the door, without me."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"Well, if the money men from the record companies knew you were a hooker...  
well, they might ask for a little yank-me-crank-me in exchange for a   
record deal. I mean, think of the jokes. Think about Michael Jackson  
when they questioned his sexuality. Unless you want to sing, "Do You  
Really Want to Hurt Me?", all my life."  
  
"So you're going to 'out' me. I can call the police."  
  
"Can you? The police need proof. Like I said, it's a foolproof system.  
I already have police protection. Besides, if you mention it again...  
I'll have you killed, Trent." Maxmillian put his chrome-plated .45  
caliber automatic handgun on the table. "I can do that. Who's going to  
miss a two bit hustler and rotten singer. I mean, the Mystik Spiral  
thing...it's shit. I know it. You know it. Would you be doing *this*  
if you had a chance at a real life? The life people live?"  
  
"Man...I'm not going to be using people any more. No. I'm wrong. I'm  
not going to be *used* by people any more. You know, you think you're  
going in there, and you're fulfilling someone's dreams. But you're  
not. They don't want you. They just want a part of you. It's degrading,  
man. All I've seen is desperate people having to pay through the nose  
for a little love."  
  
"If we didn't do it, Trent", said Maxmillian. "Somebody else would.  
Face it, Trent, I could make you disappear *yesterday*. Don't get on  
my bad side again. Don't talk this foolishness, or I'll have your dick  
cut off."  
  
Trent stood his ground. "So you're going to force me into this, is that it?"  
  
Maxmillian said, "I won't bullshit you. Yes. I *am* going to force you into  
this. Because I will seriously fuck you and your sister up if you walk out that  
door. From now on, you do what *I* tell you. You should be glad me and  
Alex aren't turning you out right now! Although we will. You can bet your  
left nut on that."  
  
"What's the deal?"  
  
"We work all lists. All comers. You're going to move out of your little hovel.  
Next Monday, you're here with me and Alex. You square it with your sister.  
I leave that up to you. We're going to give you a full makeover. You're going  
to be the star, Trent. I'm talking thousand dollar fucking nights, here.  
You'll get your cut." Maxmillian put his hand on Trent's crotch. "I'll take  
care of you. You betcha. Now get out of here. You might have a call tonight.  
Carry your beeper."  
  
Trent didn't know what to do. He took a look at Maxmillian's pistol. Finally,  
he turned on his heels and walked out.  
  
The second the door closed, Alex entered the room. "See that Mister Lane  
doesn't double-cross me. If they try to sneak out of Lawndale tonight,   
see that they don't reach the city limits. You know the drill."   
  
Alex reached over to the table. Maxmillian nodded, and Alex took the gun.  
  
*********************************  
  
Trent sat in the basement. He had told Jane that he wasn't going to do  
the escort thing any more. Jane had burned all of his clothes, and his  
cards. What he didn't tell her is that he always had the beeper with him.  
This time, it was on vibrate. He kept it hidden in his jacket, so that  
Jane wouldn't see it.  
  
His guitar stood in the corner. He reached over, and aimlessly played  
a few chords. "Damn...my inspiration has leaked out. 'My inspiration's  
dead...can't believe what I said....' No. Doesn't scan.' He was  
too drained to play. He wish Jesse were back. He wished things could return  
to the way they once were.  
  
The beeper vibrated. Already. And this time...Maxmillian wasn't going to  
tell him who it was. It could be a woman, or a guy. It could be S & M.  
Anything. Trent would go in unprepared. Unfortunately, he was a professional  
now. He knew what to expect.  
  
200TJH59810. Two hundred dollars. The James Hotel. Room 598. Ten o'clock.  
Very simple. He was going to betray Jane, and betray himself. He felt as if  
there was no one in the world he could talk to. Not without destroying  
everything. And for the first time, he wondered if there was really much of  
a point to life anymore.  
  
******************************************  
  
"La la la...." The woman looked at herself in the mirror. "Well," she said,  
"I suppose there's a first time for *everything*." She was wearing her  
I-Dream-Of-Jeannie costume. She wanted to call someone 'Master' tonight.  
Really, truth be told, she just wanted to forget the last three months.  
  
The doorbell rang. This must be him. She wondered if he would be sweet,  
be tough, be impossible. The two hundred dollars was left in a champagne  
glass, just like she was told to do. He would pick up the money on the  
way up. She was scared, yet hopeful. She also knew how much trouble she  
would be in if anyone found out.  
  
Gingerly, she pulled the locking latch back on the room.  
  
"Uh...hel-*lo*."  
  
"Uh...holy *shit*!! Mrs. Morgendorffer!!"  
  
Helen looked closer. "...Trent? Trent! Oh my God!! TRENT!!" She dived  
towards the bed and immediately hid under the covers. "Trent! What on earth  
are you doing here?!"  
  
"Uh...why are you hiding, Mrs. Morgendorffer?"  
  
"Don't look! Just don't look!!" The costume, Helen decided, showed off  
*way* too much of her body. "Oh dear God, oh *please* don't tell Daria!!!  
Oh, I'm so ashamed!!"  
  
"Uh...." Trent stepped into the room. He wanted to say something, but was  
stopped by the sound of crying.  
  
"Uh...ma'am...." Trent stepped over to the desk. He smiled. "I was about  
to ask you the same thing...not to tell anyone...I'm not too proud of doing  
this, myself."  
  
"But I know that you think I'm a (sob) terrible woman! A terrible wife and  
mother! Oh, GOD!!"  
  
Trent put his hand on Helen's shoulder, or the lump under the covers where  
her shoulder should be. "Ma'am...I've learned not to judge *anybody*.  
Everybody has a story to tell. Everybody has a reason. I just can't  
understand -- "  
  
" --oh, this is my FIRST TIME!! TRENT! You HAVE to believe me!!" Helen  
was in despair.  
  
He had heard all sorts of things. He didn't know what to think. Helen  
Morgendorffer, a liar? A cheat? It boggled the mind. "I just...like...  
don't get it," he said, as Helen cried. "I mean...you're husband's a pretty  
cool guy...and I know that he think's *you're* cool...so why are you going  
behind his back like this?"  
  
" -- I -- I -- ". More sobbing ensued.  
  
Trent walked over to the bathroom, and drafted some toilet paper into use  
as some tissue paper. "Trust me, Mrs. M. I just can't understand it, that's  
all. I would not do anything to embarrass you in front of Daria. If it   
makes me a liar, well...both of us are liars. I guess. It can't be that  
bad at home...."  
  
Helen took some of the paper, and began to dry her eyes, keeping her face  
turned away from Trent's. "It's not. I don't want to tell you. You  
wouldn't understand it."  
  
"Trust me. Like I said...I've heard all kinds of stories."  
  
"O--okay." Helen, her voice cracking, began to speak. "I don't know if  
you know this or not...but my husband...he had a heart attack two years  
ago."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well...he had his most recent check-up...and his heart's okay...he h-hasn't  
had a relapse, or anything. But his blood pressure, Trent! It's sky high.  
The doctors had to change his medication."  
  
"I hear you. High blood pressure."  
  
"Well...well, Trent, I suppose you're old enough to hear this...I mean,  
*really*...if you're doing this...but, the medication...has side effects."  
  
"What kind of side effects?" Helen turned over, enough to give Trent  
a glare through reddened eyes. "Oh. *Those* side effects."  
  
"Right...I mean...he was such a tiger in bed...and now...nothing. I can  
deal with that. That's not the reason I love Jake...it's just that Jake  
can't understand it, and he wants someone to blame...and I think...", Helen  
cried, "I think he's blaming ME!!"  
  
Trent tried to comfort Helen. "It's okay. I mean, for a guy, not being  
able to do it cuts to the bone. I mean, there have been times...when  
I couldn't perform...it really messes up your head."  
  
"Well, Trent," Helen sniffed, "Jake's head was never on tight, anyway. It's  
just...the sudden coldness. Oh, he's sweet enough. But come bedtime...he's  
just so *cold*. He doesn't even want to touch me. He's begging out of sex.  
I've recommended counseling, but he won't have it. He has so much *anger*,  
sometimes...and...I can't deal with it."  
  
"And this...?"  
  
"Trent...I'm forty-seven years old. I don't want to deal with the fact that  
my sexual life is over. I can't help Jake. I don't want to be an old maid  
before my time. I just want to have at least one night where someone would  
hold me, would tell me I was beautiful...even if I had to pay them for it."  
  
Trent smiled. "Mrs. Morgendorffer...*Helen*...I think you're beautiful!"  
  
"You're just saying that!", said Helen.  
  
"No...no, I *mean* it. I mean, the first time I met you...I mean, there  
are times when you're really high strung, but I can tell why Daria is  
so pretty. And where Daria's sister gets her looks. I mean...I've never  
been attracted to an *older* woman, before...but when I saw you...I thought,  
*whoa*. I could *do* her."  
  
"...really?...."  
  
"Of course," smiled Trent. "I mean...after all...if I wasn't who I was...  
if I was just some other guy and saw you in that Jeannie costume...I think,  
I'd like...climb under the covers and *do* you right now." Trent felt something.  
*Oh man*, he thought, *I'm starting to pitch a tent.*  
  
"Realllly. Well...," smiled Helen. "You actually are a quite handsome man.  
Jake thinks the world of you, you know that."  
  
"I don't know him that well, ma'am."  
  
"Yes, but remember the hurricane? After all of that he was saying, 'Trent this'  
and 'Trent that'. I always knew Jake wanted a son. Maybe he saw you as kind  
of a substitute."  
  
"Yeah...but I don't think he'd want me if he knew I was doing this."  
  
"Why *are* you doing this, Trent? You're such a handsome young man. Daria  
says you're a singer. I mean...you could go back to school, you could find  
a job -- "  
  
"As what, Mrs. Morgendorffer? The band is broken up."  
  
"...you take care of your sister, don't you?"  
  
"Yes'm."  
  
"Well...maybe you have to take care of *yourself* for once, Trent. They  
say you can't take care of another until you really take care of yourself.  
Sometimes...I feel I'm a failure as a mother for all the time I spend  
away from home. Yet I work fourteen hour days to put food on the table  
of my family. I don't do it out of a sense of obligation. I do it because  
I enjoy seeing them happy. And if Jane knew, she couldn't be very happy."  
  
"She isn't." A tear began to form. "She *isn't*."  
  
"She...knows."  
  
"Yes," cried Trent. "I can't quit. People...have threatened to hurt Janey.  
To hurt *us*."  
  
Helen pulled the covers off the bed and pulled Trent close to her. "There,  
there....Trent...why didn't you come to me?"  
  
"You wouldn't listen. You have problems of your own, -- "  
  
"I know Daria cares for you and Jane, Trent. If something bad were to happen  
to you, it would break her heart. And if her heart was broken, how would  
that make *me* feel? It's a crazy world! If you had told me...how could  
anyone not be moved by that? I would never turn my back on you if I knew  
you were in trouble. They're *making* you do this?"  
  
"I don't know," answered Trent. "It's my fault."  
  
"Trent...I don't think you're thinking clearly right now." She got out of the  
bed. She didn't care if Trent saw her in the Jeannie costume or not.  
Reaching behind a chair, she pulled her briefcase off the floor. She pulled  
out a tape recorder, and a legal pad.  
  
Crossing her legs, she said, "Now Trent, I want you to tell me how you got  
into this mess. Don't leave out a thing! Consider yourself...under the  
benefit of legal counsel."  
  
**************************************  
  
It was now past midnight. "And then...I didn't know what to do. So I came  
home. I figured, no one could help me, so I kept the beeper."  
  
"I see. Well...we're going to have to build a case, slowly. These are  
dangerous people."  
  
"I can do it. One or two more jobs."  
  
"You'll do no such thing! You'll tell him you're sick! I mean, he has  
to give you a vacation sooner or later! Tell him anything you can think  
of! Just don't make him suspicious. I have friends of my own, you know.  
I'm going to get you out of this problem. You might have to testify, in  
court, or talk to some officers. Can you do that?"  
  
"If it's for Janey...yeah...I think I can."  
  
"I'm more worried about you than Jane. Jane will be all right, I suspect.  
She's quite independent. Look at how she made it a half mile on a broken  
leg. I could *never* do anything like that." Helen sighed. "By the time  
you understand the benefits of being young, you're not young anymore."  
  
Trent smiled. "I still think you're young?"  
  
"Am I?"  
  
"Well...young *enough*, anyway."  
  
The two looked at each other, for the first time, seeing a side of the  
other they had never expected to see. Helen looked into Trent's eyes.  
Trent looked into Helen's. Hidden electricity shot across the room.  
  
Trent slowly walked across the room. Helen stood up. Without saying  
any words, Helen put her head on Trent's chest, her hands on his shoulders.  
  
"Whoa...Mrs--uh--Helen. You're...."  
  
"...just don't talk, Trent." Trent put his arms around Helen's waist.  
He held her very closely.  
  
"Trent...you know this is *wrong*...."  
  
"Yeah. I know. But...there's part of me that wants to...you know...."  
  
"Oh, Trent...there's a part of me that wants to, too. But...I'm very  
flattered." She broke away. "Do you think I'm a bad person...for thinking  
that way?"  
  
"If you are...you're at least as bad as I am." They looked at each other  
again, head to toe. There was a powerful longing. Trent prayed for an  
earthquake, for some divine force to put him in Helen's arms again.  
But he knew that it just might be lust, not love. And he would never  
do that to anybody. Never again.  
  
"Well, Trent," smiled Helen. "You...we'll talk tomorrow. I want you to come  
to the firm. I'm taking you in as a client. And if Eric dares to intervene,  
Helen Morgendorffer will be starting her *own* law firm! Trent...I want you  
to call Daria in the morning. Eight o'clock. You *can* do that, can't you?  
Because your call to her will let me know that you're all right."  
  
Trent knew that he loved sleep, but resolved to stay awake if he had to drink  
all the coffee in the Lane household. "Yes, ma-- "  
  
"Don't say it. When it's you and me...say 'Helen'. Our little secret."  
  
"Yes, Helen. I'm glad that you're going to help us out."  
  
"I'm glad to help you both out. Now, go to the bathroom. Forgive a middle-aged  
woman her modesty and let her get dressed. I'll be leaving. You can leave  
after I do. Good night, Trent."  
  
"Good night...*Helen.*  
  
***********************************************  
  
"Mo-OOOMMM!!! Trent is here!!" It was the loud, shrill voice of Quinn.  
  
Helen couldn't believe it. Daria, her oldest daughter, was away from  
the house at college. And next year...Quinn would be gone, too. She'd  
be suffering from Empty Nest Syndrome. Jake had already moved to  
the empty bedroom. They had an understanding. It was so heartbreaking,  
sometimes.  
  
"Coming, sweetie!"  
  
Quinn opened the door. "Hi, Trent! Come on in!"  
  
"Hi, Quinn." Dammit, he loved calling her, 'Daria's sister'. But Helen soon  
put a stop to that. "What's up?"  
  
"Dad's gone golfing, and we need someone to fix the storm gutters. I mean...  
it's not like something, I could do, because I mean, it's like...EWWWWWW!!!"  
  
Quinn flopped down on the couch. "So is it true? Are you going to Pepperdale?"  
  
"Yeah...my grades aren't good enough to get me into State. I'm going to take  
music theory."  
  
"I'm surprised you didn't go earlier. I mean, didn't you graduate, like,  
years ago?"  
  
"Yeah, Quinn," said Trent, "I would have gone earlier...but...I had some  
*legal* problems to take care of. Your mom helped."  
  
"Ohhhhh?", said Quinn. She hadn't heard about *this*! "Can you...like...  
tell me about them?"  
  
Helen came down the staircase. She was wearing a Midvale sweatshirt and  
short pants. "Trent! How nice of you to come buy and offer to help us!"  
She looked at Quinn. "Quinn, Stacy's going to pick you up in five minutes.  
You really have to get ready."  
  
Quinn looked at Trent. "We *HAVE* to talk! I mean, really!!!" With that,  
Quinn bounced away.  
  
Helen watched Quinn go. "Never mind Quinn, Trent. I'm sure you *don't* want  
to tell her about the last year!"  
  
"Yes'm."  
  
"You know, until you begin college next year, we can use your help around  
the house! The storm gutters are in a frightful mess. And there are...other  
chores I might have you do around the house today...."  
  
"Ma'am...I'll do whatever is asked of me."  
  
"Do I have to pay you...extra?"  
  
"No, ma'am. It's my pleasure." And it was, too.  
  
**************************************  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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